Destiny
by Whistler84
Summary: Elizabeth’s standing in a pile of rubble, trapped in an Ancient classroom while ice cold water slowly leaks in from a crumbled little hole in the corner. She‘s scared and tired and so very, very cold.
1. The Chill

Title: Dynamics

Author: Whistler84

Rating: PG. Spoilers: Through First season. Disclaimer: Don't own Stargate: Atlantis.

1

Summary: Elizabeth's standing in a pile of rubble, trapped in an Ancient classroom while ice-cold water slowly leaks in from a crumbled little hole in the corner. She's scared and tired and so very, very cold.

A/N - This was actually suppose to be part of "Dynamics," - five ways Elizabeth Weir and John Sheppard get together ficlet, but it took on a life of its own. This is my first Stargate: Atlantis story (my others are ficlets), so here's hoping I do well. Review if you want to see this continue.

--

1

Elizabeth knows she'll never forget this day.

It begins in the middle of Atlantis's winter season, when the first snowflakes had started to fall and the vast ocean that held this great city had become so chilled that many had wondered if it would freeze completely over soon, leaving behind a city trapped in ice. Like Antarctica, she reflects. She never thought the sight of Atlantis could get more majestic, but the notion of it in a winter-wonderland appeals to the 11-year-old pigtailed girl inside of her. The adult in her isn't as captivated, because while the sight is breathtaking, it incurs a variety of technical and managerial issues, like the water pipes freezing over and the Athosians over in the mainland seeking sanctuary from the harsh climates by scrambling into the city.

Which, obviously, meant that they had to arrange for more living quarters. Exploration teams are quickly assembled, and once again venturing into the unknown regions of Atlantis, the people of Earth manage to discover a variety of new and interesting things to occupy their attention for a good several weeks. One area, discovered in the far northeast quadrant of the city, seems to have been a market place. Other areas show family quarters and nurseries, and what may have once been a school for children.

"A school?" Elizabeth questions curiously, when she first hears about it in her daily briefings with Sheppard.

He shrugs, tilting back in his chair so far that its only supported by it's hind two legs, "That's what it looks like. They've got a whole bunch of tables and chairs only big enough for little people. Either it's for kids, or Atlantis had a very large midget population, once upon a time."

She gives him a half-hearted glare, and suppresses the temptation to correct his posture, "And the only explanation for the small tables and chairs is that it's a school?"

"No," he answers, "There's some books and stuff, too. Written in Ancient."

"Really?" Elizabeth asks, her fascination increasing ten-fold, "Do you happen to have one of these books with you–"

"–Right now?" John interrupts, in a light-hearted tone, "Why, as a matter of fact I do, Dr. Weir."

He casually leans forward, landing his chair back on all fours with an audible scrape. Her eyes narrow at the offensive sound, but he's oblivious to the look because he's already grabbed a backpack from the ground and he's digging through its' contents. A moment later, he hands her a book with a self-satisfied smirk on his face, and she takes it without commenting because as soon the book is in her hands, she's focusing on it instead of him. As she flips through it, she's captivated by the beautiful covers and drawings, the Ancient symbols, the glossy paper that still hasn't lost its' shine in over ten thousands years. She marvels at the remarkable detail that went into every inch of the book.

She hears John sigh, "You were one of those weird kids, weren't you? That ones that actually liked going to school?"

She suppresses a smile, not daring to look up at him until a good five seconds have passed, "As a matter of fact, I was. What of it, Major?"

He rolls his eyes in exasperation, "Figures. I bet you were student council president in high school, too."

"Vice President, actually," she informs, as if the difference was of the utmost importance, "And I'll think I take a look at this school."

John looks surprised, "What? You mean like go down there and see it, personally? It's over a two hour trek from here."

Elizabeth raises an eyebrow, "I think I can manage that, Major. I can rearrange some my briefings this afternoon to accommodate the time . . . unless, of course, there's some reason I shouldn't go?"

"Oh, no," John answers, reassuringly, "I'm just, you know, surprised that you actually want to . . . um . . . ah . . . hmm." he quickly rethinks his statement, "This afternoon's perfect for me. Ready by five?"

It annoys Elizabeth a bit, but John's surprise is probably well deserved. She admits she doesn't get out of Command Central that often. There's actually a running joke filtering among the Atlantis personnel that she eats and sleeps in her office, venturing out only when she doesn't see her own shadow. She chooses not to read too much into the fact that her people are essentially drawing comparisons between her and a groundhog. It's only suppose to be a joke about her crazy work hours, but there's some sting to it, because Elizabeth knows there's truth in it as well. For the leader of this expedition, Elizabeth feels she often delegates the actual exploration part of it to everyone else.

John tilts his head curiously, looking all of 12-years-old for a moment. "The books, I can understand. They might give us some information about their history or science, but the classrooms are exactly that, Elizabeth. Classrooms. Seen one, you've seen 'em all. Why are you so interested?"

Elizabeth disagrees. "Major, a school is a place for learning. We're explorers. If you can't make the connection and figure out why I want to see this school, then the military may be more hopeless than I previously thought."

He takes the jest in good stride, "Oh, ha ha. Yeah, you probably think us military folk are just cavemen with guns, right? Since we have no patience for silly little things, like education and basic hygiene. Hygiene, smygene, I say. Now if you'll excuse me, I have plans to go hit Teyla over the head and mate with her."

The unexpected comment brings out a laugh before Elizabeth can contain herself, "John, _never_ let Teyla hear you say anything like that."

John suddenly turns worried, "Yeah. That's actually some good advice . . . But mission accomplished, though."

"Mission?" she repeats.

"To get you to laugh more." John answers, smugly, "I've made it my new daily mission. You need to lighten up, Elizabeth. You'll give yourself a heart-attack at the age of thirty."

It's sweet, really, but Elizabeth finds herself focusing on only one part of that declaration, "Thirty? You think I'm thirty?"

John's eyes widen in alarm, sensing a fast approaching doom, "Uh, I was talking about the future. The distant-many-years-down-the-line future, when space monkeys rule the world or possible when artificial intelligence has overtaken humanity. Either way, it's bad for mankind, but I'm still talking about the way distant future here . . . when you turn thirty. Many years down the line."

Elizabeth stares at him, bewildered by the man's train of thought, "So help me God, John, if you start quoting in a Galaxy far, far away . . . I may just have to have you killed."

John rolls his eyes, as if _she'd _just said the most asinine thing _he'd_ ever heard of, instead of the other way around. "That was in the past, Elizabeth. 'A long time ago, in a Galaxy far, far away . . .' It's the first part of the quote, for Pete's sake! And even if I did, who says it has to be this galaxy? Pegasus and Milky Way aren't the only two, you know."

She briefly wonders how this conversation came to this point, and puts any resulting blame firmly on the Major. "I have work to do, John."

"You always have work to do."

Five hours after that remark is said, Elizabeth's standing in a pile of rubble, trapped in an Ancient classroom while ice-cold water slowly leaks in from a crumbled little hole in the corner. She's scared and tired and so very, very cold, and she can't help but think the Major was right. She was a workaholic, and she should have damn-well stuck to it. If she had, she would have been too busy to explore, and that would have saved her from being stuck in thishorriblemess in the first place.

The school, it seemed, had at least one major structural weak point, and when one of the team members had slipped on the icy surface on the outside, they had slammed into a support beam that eventually gave way, causing a cave in. Elizabeth had been unfortunate enough to have been investigating one level below the said cave-in. One moment, she's standing in a small and tasteful classroom with a sense of nostalgia, and the next second, everything comes piling on top of her and she feels a brief stab of pain in the back of her neck and sees nothing more.

When she comes to, it's to the shock of icy cold water seeping into her boots. The water isn't coursing in. It isn't even rising at any alarming rate. It's just beginning to pool a little on the floor. She checks for injuries, finds none that are too serious, and decides to move. She looks around, squinting until her vision adjusts to the darkened state of the room. She spots her flashlight lying somewhere in the corner, and quickly stumbles to get to it and turn it on. Slightly illuminated now, she can tell that the room is completely demolished, scraps of debris everywhere–

"Elizabeth!" John calls out, from somewhere behind the rubble that has her trapped in the room.

"Dr. Weir, are you in there? Are you okay?"

"Elizabeth, answer me!" John again. His voice is persistent and worried.

"I'm here," she calls out quickly to reassure. "I'm fine, Major. No serious injuries!"

There's a moment of silence, and then John calls out again, this time with a touch of relief in his voice. "We're going to get you out of there, Elizabeth. Just sit tight. Are you sure you're okay?"

"Yeah," Elizabeth yells, "I'm fine. Is everyone else okay?"

A moment passes in silence while John gets the information, "Siler might have a broken leg, and a couple of others have some scraps and bruises, but nothing else. I'm more worried about you."

"Don't be," Elizabeth says, in all honesty, "I told you I'm fine. I managed to come out of this mess with nothing but a bump on the head. I don't see a way out of this room, though. Do you know what happened?"

"Siler caused a cave-in," John replies, wearily, "We seemed to have overestimated the structural integrity of this section."

"Why, whatever gave you that idea?" Elizabeth mutters under her breath, then notices the water again, and thinks it's definitely worth mentioning, "Uh, Major, there's also a little water in here. I think one of the drain pipes might have ruptured in the cave-in. Or at least, I hope. We're not near the periphery of the city, right? There's no chance this is ocean water seeping in?"

There's a pregnant pause that follows.

"Hold on a second, Elizabeth."

She waits as patiently as she can, until they start talking to her again, this time through the radio she had nearly forgotten was located in her backpack. As she digs it out, the next voice she hears doesn't belong to John, and she can't quite place who it is even as she intently listens to every one of his words, " . . . but don't worry about it, Doctor Weir. We'll have you out of there before it has a chance to become any type of issue–"

"So it is ocean water!" Elizabeth asks sharply, and feels her heart rate speed up.

"There's a slim possibility–"

Whoever's voice it is get's cut off, and there's static for several seconds, and then John's voice is back.

"Like the man said, Elizabeth, don't worry about it. We're on our way in, now."

She can hear faint protests from somebody in the background, "But I just told you the structure is–"

Static, again. For a moment Elizabeth strains to hear any more voices, rattled that she keeps getting cut off with half sentences. "Mr. Andrews?" Elizabeth radios out, suddenly matching the voice to an architect from the exploration team. "Is that you?"

"Yeah," John replies for him after a moment, "That was Andrews. Stay calm, Elizabeth. We're on our way in. We're going to start removing the debris . . . "

The sentence is left unfinished. _Again_. Elizabeth's irritation is starting to rise. "Major? Are you still there?"

"Yeah," he quickly answers, "Uh, yeah, I'm here. Just talking with some scientists. Uh, they seem to be worried about moving the rubble without proper support. We might have to wait for an excavation team to get down here. We don't want to cause any more damage to the surrounding structures."

Elizabeth nods, seeing the rationale, "Okay, just . . . just hurry, please. And keep me informed. Last I looked, I was still functioning at normal capacity. So don't try to shield me from anything. I need to know what's going on, Major."

"Don't worry," John radios out, sounding confident, "We'll have you out of there in no time. Promise."

She wishes John hadn't said that, because something always goes wrong afterwards. She sighs, and starts looking around the devastated room, and although grateful to be alive and relatively unharmed, there's also a sense of loss at the school's destruction. The idealist in her really was hopeless, wasn't she? Here she was trapped in a demolished room, with a leak somewhere, and she feels depressed only because a classroom was destroyed.

Later, she finally manages to locate the only point of entry for the water - a hole that's smaller than half the size of her fist, located at the bottom of one the walls. She finds it on her hands and knees, and gets half drenched in ice cold water for her effort. Still, in such a large room with vaulted ceilings, Elizabeth feels confident that it won't be a major problem as long as she gets out of here quickly. She radios in the information and waits patiently for them to get her out.

She starts to worry after about an hour, when the water has had time to rise a full foot off the floor.

The exploration team has just arrived, having made the distance from Command Central to here in half the time it took her. They begin their work without pause, cautiously digging her out from the outside in the effort to avoid causing further structural damage. In the meantime, the water continues to accumulate little by little and, worse, it's barely above freezing temperature thanks to Atlantis's winter season. She's been forced to climb the furniture to escape the rising level of water, and silently curses the fact that the furniture was made for (in John's words) little people. Suddenly, the little hole in the corner seems to have become a problem. Elizabeth's voices her concern about what the added pressure and strain could do to the already weak surrounding structure, but the answer she receives back is purposefully ambiguous.

"It shouldn't be a problem?" Elizabeth radios back out, "I'm the one standing in here, and I have to say it looks like a problem to me."

Andrew's nervousness is barely veiled, "I know what it looks like, but I'm telling you what it is. It shouldn't be a problem, Dr. Weir."

A loud deafening sound suddenly echoes through the room, and Elizabeth nearly jumps out of her skin. Then she realizes it's nothing but the excavation team and their equipment. She takes a calming breath, and longingly thinks of her chair and office. The noise continues for the next 15 minutes, nearly deafening her at times, both when the excavation team is working full-blast and the brief pauses of respite in-between (although, to Elizabeth, that's more of a deafening silence).

"How you doing . . . Elizabeth?"

"Rodney?" Elizabeth replies, into the radio with surprise. "When did you get here?"

"About . . . a minute ago," he answers, sounding distinctly out of breath since she can clearly hear him gasping for air in between his words, "I just . . . made a two hour trek . . . in an hour and . . . fifteen minutes . . . carrying excavation supplies. I think . . . I'm dying."

She smiles, suddenly feeling warmth despite the ice cold water not even one feet below her. "Take a deep breath, Rodney. Just relax."

"I was about . . . to tell you . . . the same thing."

He talks to her for a minute before he's put to work by John. She has no idea if his genius abilities in physics will do much good to her in her present situation, but she feels comforted in knowing that he's up there trying his best. Both him and John have pulled off miracles before, and she jokingly starts to think that's exactly what she would need to get out of this situation - a miracle.

She's aware that a lot of time passes and more people arrive. She's fairly positive she hears Teyla's voice somewhere beyond the rubble, but it could have easily been someone else. The worst thing about this situation to her is the sense of isolation she feels. It's worse then the cold, and the dampness, and the darkness of the room. She's not much more than a dozen feet from the others, but she feels very much alone in this place. The sound of people beyond her reach slowly filters in, and it's the only comforting thing that she can hold onto right now. It seems with each passing minute, its get louder and louder. She believes they must be making good progress in digging her out of here. Either that, or there's a growing number of people out there - a bad idea for a structurally unsound area.

Elizabeth radios in to make sure John hasn't drawn in the entire Atlantis personnel here for this.

"Oh, c'mon, Elizabeth," John says, sounding mildly insulted, "Have more faith in me than that."

"Right," Elizabeth replies, immediately feeling contrite, "Sorry."

She's impatient now, and trying to quell it. The water rises until there's nothing left to climb on to avoid it, even after assembling of pile of furniture to stand upon. Her feet are the first to be submerged, and the feel of such ice cold water shocks her for a moment. It's so cold, and it oddly feels like a thousand little prickles across her skin, until her feet go completely numb. She stands on the furniture, her head nearly touching the ceiling, and constantly moves her weight from one foot to another until she's almost jumping in order to keep her circulation going in her feet. She feels like a total idiot, and is suddenly glad that no one can see her.

Time passes. Too much time.

"Major, what's the progress?"

He answers back almost immediately, "It's taking us a little longer than we expected to remove the rubble."

"I noticed," Elizabeth replies, "How much longer do you think it will be?"

"At this point, another . . . hour?" his voice isn't filled with it's usual assurances.

For the first time, Elizabeth feels true fear of the situation. "An hour? John, that's too much time . . . the water's rising."

"Don't worry, Elizabeth," John answers, "We're working on a plan B."

"What's plan B?"

There's a pause, "I can't really talk about it, yet. I have to go over some of the details first. But don't worry, I got it covered."

She suddenly realizes that he might be shielding her, dammit, after she had explicitly asked - no, ordered - him not to. A part of her is enraged at it, that he's treating her like a stereotypical damsel-in-distress. Which, she groans, she just may be. But that still doesn't give him the right to act like he has to protect her from becoming hysterical. She's a calm, rational person. She can handle bad news.

For a moment, she has the urge to set him strait, right here and now.

But the rationale part of her, the one that always wins out, tempers her anger. He's just trying to help, and there really is nothing she can do to help the situation from her position. But she still has to inform him that it's unacceptable to treat her this way, though, especially in emergency situations. She tempted to say so now, but the idea of railing out people who are trying their best to save her life seems to be a bit in poor taste. She finally decides to have words with him about this, afterwards. When this is all done and over with, she'll talk to him. She'll be firm, but not ungrateful. Later.

First, she'll kiss him senseless for getting her out of here.

She blinks, and wonders where the hell that thought came from. After a moment, she decides not to look too closely at the implications, and simply puts the blame on stress. Or temporary insanity. Either explanation will do.

"Elizabeth, are you still there?"

She refocuses on the radio, and clears her throat, "Fine, Major. But when you do get the details of Plan B figured out, inform me, please."

"'Course."

She continues to wait, as the water continues to rise. The chill of the water and the accompanying pin-prickles soon turn into a full blown anguish. Any composure and nonchalance she had in the situation quickly starts to dissipate as the pain levels rise. She never knew ice cold water could be so painful, but it is. It's constant, and horrible, and overrides almost every other sensation and thought. By the time it reaches just above her knees, her legs are in such pain that she almost feels like crying. It becomes abundantly clear that the possibility of drowning in this room (slim though it may be) was actually secondary to another devastating and progressively alarming possibility - hypothermia.

"Weir, here," she radios out, concerned and trying to hide the pain she's in, "Is Carson there?"

"Hold on, Dr. Weir." Ford answers, apparently having arrived at some point, "I'll go get him."

Carson's on the radio a moment later, "Yes, Elizabeth?"

She breathes a sigh of relief, "I was worried you hadn't reached here, yet. I need to ask you some questions . . . about hypothermia."

"Has the water risen that much, lass?" Carson questions, alarmed.

"No!" Elizabeth reassures, quickly, "But it is slowly rising. And it's cold, really cold."

"Barely above freezing, I imagine," he replies, concern still evident, "What would you like to know?"

"When I get out of here, I'm going to be cold." Elizabeth states, "Just to be informed, at what temperature is hypothermia likely to be . . . a problem?"

Carson gets into teacher mode quickly, "Well, hypothermia is simply when the body core temperature drops to less than 35 degrees Celsius, but you start to loose consciousness when it falls to around 30 degrees. In water, the major concern then is drowning while unconscious. How much water is in there right now?"

"Up to my knees," Elizabeth answers, "but the upside to that is the water's rising really slowly, and I'm in a large room."

"Aye, but it's still troubling." Carson answers, pausing to measure his words, ". . . But if it becomes an issue, Elizabeth, rest assured that hypothermia is easily treatable with the right equipment. As long as you're still breathing when we pull you out, you shouldn't have any long term affects. You'll be fine."

That's good news, Elizabeth thinks, "What does the treatment require?"

"Basically methods that are initiated to help your core temperature rise. Rewarming you with warm, humidified oxygen, and warm IV-fluids," Carson answers, simply enough, "I can have the necessary equipment ready for you as soon as you're pulled out."

"That would be greatly appreciated, Carson."

"Nonsense, it's what I get paid for . . . if we were actually getting bloody paid here, that is. Just keep me informed of your condition, Elizabeth. Keep your circulation going by walking and moving around as much as you can, but don't exhaust yourself. If the water rises too much, adapt a small body-to-surface area by huddling into a small position. I'll be sure to be checking up on you from time to time."

She thanks him once again, and puts the radio away. She's already feeling better about her situation, having informed Carson and listened to his professional advice. Wasting no time, she starts walking through the water, getting her circulation going. The pain is still there, but Elizabeth tries to focus on something else, anything else. It isn't easily mastered, but after a while, she finds herself focusing on a mental image of her house back on Earth. She pictures the fireplace clear as day, with her grandmother's rocking chair nearby. It's probably a bit masochistic to be thinking about that right now, but she focuses on it anyway, finding comfort in the visual. She fends off the pain that way.

"Elizabeth?" John radios in, almost five minutes later.

She fumbles with her radio, noticing with alarm that her fingers are turning ice blue, "What is it, Major?"

"How you doing? Carson told me that you were concerned about hypothermia?"

"Just a precautionary concern," Elizabeth answers, lying through her teeth, "What's the situation on your end?"

"We figured out our Plan B," he replies, "We use C4."

Her breathe, already starting to become weak and thready from the cold, catches for a moment, "Is that really necessary? Won't it cause too much damage to this area?"

"There's a possibility, yes. That's why it's plan B."

She thinks for a moment, and then radios in, "Let me talk to Andrews, first."

Another moment passes, and then he answers, "Yes, Doctor Weir?"

"Andrews," Elizabeth says, adopting her most authoritative voice, "What are the odds that the C4 will work without causing too much damage to this entire structure?"

There's a pregnant pause, and Andrew answers back, sounding unhappy but firm, "Unfortunately, the odds are slim."

Elizabeth closes her eyes, feeling desperation set in, "And what's the worst case scenario of using the C4?"

"It brings down the entire east wing," he answers bluntly, "In my professional opinion, I don't think we should use it. I'm sorry, Dr. Weir. I truly am. But I stand firm in this opinion. The risk is simply too much. There are others here that disagree, of course."

She can already tell one of them is John, simply because he still has it as Plan B. She's proven right when he radios in a second later, defending the idea, "It could work if we use a small amount. A very small amount."

"You don't know that," she replies, "You don't know that a small amount won't bring the entire thing down."

"And you don't know that it will," he replies, just as stubbornly. "We're running out of time."

She glances down at the water, and the agony of the chill returns full blown, "I'm well aware of that, John."

Rodney's voice crackles into the conversation for the first time, "I happen to agree with the Major, Elizabeth. While playing from a purely statistical point of view, this may not be such a good idea, but if we went by statistics all the time, we'd have died over three thousand and forty-two times by now. The plan does have it's merits."

Elizabeth thinks about it, knowing she's got all the information she's bound to need. It comes down to risk - whether she was willing to risk the lives of everybody in the East Wing of Atlantis to save herself. The answer is an automatic and resounding no.

She says so, "Negative on Plan B. You do it the old fashion way. Dig me out."

"Elizabeth–"

Elizabeth's voice is firm, "Don't, Major. No one is worth that much risk. I'll not have the deaths of everyone here hanging over my head. It's my decision, and I'm making it an order. You are not to use the C4. Understood?"

She gets no immediate reply back, and intensely worries about that. John doesn't disobey her orders lightly, but when he thinks he can save lives his way, just assume that all bets are off. She hates that she can't completely trust him in this situation. She briefly wonders if she may have to put Bate's in charge to make sure her orders are followed, and feels sickened that's even a possibility she's considering. It would feel so wrong, but she has to do what's right for Atlantis. This would just be the first time that John may not be the man to make it happen.

"Alright, we'll do this your way."

She sighs, relieved beyond limits when she hears him say those words. "Thank you, Major."

"For what exactly?" he asks, sharply bitter. She knows the emotion is directed more at himself than her, but she still mentally recoils from the tone.

She doesn't hear from him for a while after that. Rodney keeps her informed, as does Andrews. But not John. She feels hurt by that, but thinks it may be best to let him cool off. More time passes, more water rises - past her waist, in fact. The flashlight in her hands suddenly slips through her fingers at some point and starts floating away. She wants to grab it, but the movements seems to take too much energy away from her. She's just grown to be so exhausted and tired, and the idea of closing her eyes and resting is suddenly so damn appealing to her. She ends up watching as the flashlight slowly drifts to the far side of the room, leaving her area engulfed in nearly complete darkness. She's cold and miserable, and most of all, scared beyond words now.

The pain is her constant companion. And it may be her apprehension overreacting, but the water suddenly seems to be rising at a much quicker pace than before. She wonders if perhaps the small hole may have just gotten bigger somehow, and is panicked to think she may have to swim beneath the surface of the water to check it out.

She asks for Carson's opinion, not even attempting to hide the chattering of her teeth anymore.

"No, lass," his answer is firm, "Don't go drenching yourself completely now. Not if you can avoid it. Are you sure the water looks like it's rising faster?"

She pauses, hating to add bad news to an already horrible situation, "Yes, I'm sure . . . It's rising much faster now."

Carson normal composure falters for a second, and he swears a string of curse words that shock her.

"Elizabeth," Rodney's voice suddenly appears, "Ignore the irrational doctor now. I'll always said medicine was nothing more than voodoo, and that any ignoramus could do it. It seems I've been proven right, yet again."

"Right," Carson says, sounding contrite, "Sorry, Elizabeth. I just lost . . . my focus for a wee bit of a moment there. My apologies."

She wants to say he's forgiven, but she doesn't have the energy anymore to speak unless absolutely necessary.

Rodney's voice comes back on to cover the silence, "Elizabeth, I overheard your conversation. There's no need for you to check out the damage underneath the water, you know enough already. If the water's rising faster, going under to check it out won't do you any good. All it'll do is speed up your hypothermia."

She shivers, and forces herself to reply, "Okay."

Rodney pauses, then his voice turns unusually gentle, "I'll pass on the news to Sheppard. Just stay with us, Elizabeth. We're working as fast as humanly possible. Faster, even. There's not a person down here that's not doing their best to help you. Even Kavanagh."

Her breath hiccups, in a version of a laugh, "Wonders . . . never cease."

"He's just scared shitless at the idea of Sheppard in charge. We all are."

She smiles, even as her lips begin to turn ice blue.

Her condition takes a steep decline after that - a very steep decline. She's stops thinking properly at some point, and focuses only on two things - the cold wetness and the pain. The image of her fireplace has long since lost its' comfort, and Elizabeth just wants out now. She promises she won't leave Command Central for the next year if she could just get out of this cold, wet, miserably place. Her skin turns a tinge of blue, and the chill of the water has officially turned into a painful torment she _can't_ stand. The thousand little prickles are more like swords now, and she can barely even move except for the shivering. She's having trouble breathing. When the next voice she hears from the radio is Carson, Elizabeth saves him the trouble of asking her about her condition.

"I'm cold," she tells him, teeth chattering. "Oh God, Carson, I'm so cold."

She doesn't even pay attention to his response, but just gazes at the rising level of water with a sense of utter contempt. She almost blacks out for a second, head going under until she tastes salt water in the back of her throat. Her eyes snap open and she spits out the disgusting liquid, alarmed. The water has reached chest-high, and she's shivering so much that she can barely even speak coherent sentences with her teeth chattering a mile a minute.

She suddenly finds herself facing her own mortality with a sense of calm knowledge. She is going to die. Not by the Wraith's hand. Not of old age. Not by some mystery that was unique to the Pegasus Galaxy. But by hypothermia. She knows with a certainty that she has precious few moments left.

John suddenly comes back onto the radio, worried. He's saying words, and a part of her mind is trying to pay attention, but it's too much effort. Rodney joins in, and she again tries to pay attention. But it's too much effort. She wants to comfort them, to tell them she's okay because she knows they're trying their best and working their quickest, but she's suddenly so far gone that the only thing she can say, over and over again, is that she's cold. So cold. She only snaps out of it when she hears something she wishes she hadn't.

"Elizabeth," John radios in, sounding determined, "We're going to use the C4."

Elizabeth shakes off the cobwebs that are forming around her thoughts, and tries to speak through her chattering teeth, "Don't . . . might cause . . . the entire east wing . . . to crumble."

"That's a gamble we're willing to take."

"No," Elizabeth mutters, wanting desperately to scream and angry as hell that she can barely whisper, "You could kill . . . every one out here . . . Not an option . . . Major."

"There's no other options left," John snaps back, "It'll take us another twenty minutes to get you out at this rate. You don't . . . you don't sound like you . . . have that much time left."

"I don't," she admits, tearing up. "You've done . . . everything you can."

"No, I haven't. We still have the C4."

"I'm in charge . . . it's my call."

"Bullshit!" John suddenly rages, frustrated, "You can barely even talk, Elizabeth. You not in the right mind to making life and death decisions."

"If it's . . . my life . . . I am."

"No, we're going through with the C4. Get away from the east wall, Elizabeth."

"John, listen to me." Elizabeth pleads, fearing the emotion she can hear in his voice. "I want to tell you . . . something."

"No–"

"It's important . . . I was going to listen . . . to you . . . now it's . . . your . . . turn."

She fears that may have sounded vindictive, which isn't her intention at all. But the fact is, it's _his_ turn now to listen to _her_ last words, and nothing anyone can do is going to change that. She fleetingly remembers the day when he was trapped in the puddle-jumper, a Wraith bug attached to his neck, in pain and dying. She remembers listening to the words of "I'd like to say something while I still can," which turned out to be one of the most painful experiences in her entire life. She's been thankful every day since that it had ended without tragedy, but it seems this time may be different. There was nothing complicated about this, like a Wraith bug. She was just freezing to death. But other than that, the situation remarkably parallels that day, just in reverse.

"Elizabeth! Are you still with me?"

This time, she was dying and he was listening.

Her head dips under again, and she's painfully aware that she only has a few moments left before she completely loses consciousness and drowns. She wants to be dignified in her last moments of life. She wants to tell Rodney to take care of himself and loosen up once in a while - be more like John, she'd joke. She also wants to tell John that it wouldn't hurt for him to be a little more like Rodney - to be a little more serious at times, and to not hesitate to take command of other people now, since he was Atlantis's only remaining commander. She wants to tell the crew of Atlantis, to those who are overhearing, to take care of themselves and, more importantly, take care of each other. She wants to tell them that it has been her greatest honor to serve with them and she wouldn't have traded this adventure for anything in the Universe.

"Elizabeth! Talk to me, dammit! Say something!"

But the fact is, she's too weak.

All of that is outside of her reach, and she knows she only has brief moments left. She can say only one thing, and she wants to say it to John. She hesitates, though, the coward in her rearing its' ugly head. She doesn't want the entire expedition to hear this. It's too personal, but the saying "now or never" has never had such stark applications to her before. She uses the last of her strength to gain the courage she needs.

"Elizabeth! Answer me!"

She wishes she could see his face, but she will save her wishing for better things . . .

"John, I . . . wanted to say . . . I–"

But she never finishes.

Suddenly, there's a growing, blinding light for a second, and then an ethereal sense courses through her entire body. In one moment, the pain and agony of the chill is relieved, and Elizabeth isn't wet or cold or dying anymore. Instead, she's strangely standing in a brightly lit room, with white tiles and windows that show a spectacular view of Atlantis's clear blue sky.

"Am I dead?" she questions, to herself in a empty room.

"No," a masculine voice answer back.

Elizabeth turns around to see a man dressed in a tan outfit that oddly matches the white gown she suddenly finds herself in. He's got dark brown hair and pair of sympathetic eyes that lend a familiarity to them, although she's positive she's never seen this man before in her entire life.

He steps forward cautiously, as if to avoid spooking her, "You're not dead. Not yet, anyway. And if you choose what I'm offering you, you won't die. Ever."

Elizabeth is too confused and disoriented to understand, "What do you mean?"

"Elizabeth, I'm here to offer you the guidance to Ascend."

TBC? . . . (Depends on your reviews!)

–


	2. Her People

_I shall be telling this with a sigh  
Somewhere ages and ages hence:  
two roads diverged in a wood, and I –_

_  
I took the one less traveled by,  
And that has made all the difference._

"Road Not Taken" by Robert Frost

–

Her funeral is held on the Tuesday evening that follows.

John stands in front of the casket, hands drawn behind him in a poise that was meant to be stoic. His face is expressionless. His eyes are barren of any hint of emotion. And his voice, when he chooses to speak on this particular day, is void of any of the normal humor that regularly distinguishes it from a thousand others. The entire facade is meant for only one thing - to signal any who approach him that he was not in the mood for company.

It works, but only for those who don't know him well.

"It was a memorable service," Teyla comments, faltering for a second before continuing, "I understand that the casket is to be released onto the ocean waves come nightfall?"

John nods, in a detached manner, "Fitting, considering the circumstances."

Rodney clears his throat from the other side of him, speaking in rushed words, "Yes, well. I think Elizabeth would have liked it . . . a burial at sea has a sentimental touchy-feely flavor to it that I think she would have been pleased with. Granted, the actual reasons for it manages to suck all traces of sentimentality from it with the same power as a hurricane-forced breeze . . . but still," he reluctantly continues, his voice slowly dropping an octave and becoming uniquely gentle, "I . . . I think Elizabeth would have liked it. I really do."

John just grunts, leaving his opinion on the matter ambiguously vague and crude.

Carson sighs, from somewhere behind him, "Oh, bloody hell, son. You can at least manage to speak words like the rest of civilization. Do us that favor, at least?"

John takes a bit of perverse pleasure in grunting his acknowledgment back.

Teyla speaks before Carson has time to muster enough ammunition in the form of foreign profanity, "The night is nearly upon us. Perhaps we should begin to make the necessary arrangements?"

John nods, momentarily glad to be doing anything besides gazing at the casket in front of him, before he realizes that making arrangements meant he had to be _moving_ the casket in front of him instead of simply staring at it. He feels a momentary surge of aversion overcome him, before he manages to push it back down by sheer will power. It's the same will power that has managed to keep him emotionless for the last forty-eight hours.

John Sheppard's lost people before in his life. Numerous people, in fact. In a variety of ways. Even when he was a child, he was no stranger to death. His mother had died of breast cancer when he was twelve years old. His older brother had died in the Gulf War just two years after that. He's seen fellow comrades and friends die in battlefields that ranged from the deserts of Iraq to the ocean waters of Atlantis. He's seen all imaginable types of death and carnage. It was just an expected part of any soldier's life.

This is the first time, though, that John finds himself unable to accept or deal with the aftermath. He's always been practical in his dealings of death. Yes, death was horrible. Yes, death was crippling. And yes, his many inadequacies were often responsible for exasperating - if not outright causing - the situations to occur in the first place. But today, John seriously questions whether he'll ever be able to recover from this one like he has all the others. This one wasn't going to simply haunt his nightmares. It's going to haunt his waking hours, as well.

Elizabeth's death, he knows, will affect him for the rest of his life like no other. He chooses not to delve too deeply into the whys of that statement. He just knows the utter veracity of it, and examining it won't make him feel better. In fact, he's fairly positive that examining his feelings when it comes to Elizabeth . . . when it _came_ to Elizabeth . . . would make him damn near self-destructive.

And now, as the sole leader of this entire expedition, that's so _profoundly _not an option. And, he silently adds without the slightest outward tick, that he'll be _damned_ if he'll let Elizabeth down for a second time. The first time he had done so had cost him her life, if he did it a second time, it could very well cost him nearly everyone else's.

"Ford," John calls out, knowing the young lieutenant was silently standing only a few feet out of his line of sight, "Grab the aft end of the casket."

He doesn't wait for any reply. He closes in on the few feet between him and the coffin, grabs one end of it, and lingers no more than a second or two before Ford has a secure handle on the other end. Together, easily, they lift up the coffin.

John reflects, with a piercing stab through his chest that's quickly muffled, that an empty coffin was all too light for his liking.

"It really is disheartening," Teyla comments, somberly, "that we were unable to recover her body."

–

_Forty-eight hours earlier . . . _

_Elizabeth stares at the man before her, feeling a type of emotion she can't even begin to describe. "Ascend?"_

_It's a notion too surreal for her to properly comprehend right now. Her mind is still trying to wrap itself around the fact that she's not in ice cold water anymore - a blessing that Elizabeth is highly grateful for, no doubt, but the concept of it is still too jarring for her to make sense. She can still recall every second of the pain and fear she was in for the last few hours, and although now she's suddenly warm and dry, the lingering sensations from that room will take some time to shed off._

"_You're two breaths shy of dying, Elizabeth," the man before her replies, "I'm offering you an alternative to death."_

_Elizabeth feels the wind knocked out of her, "Are those . . . are those my only two options? Is there no chance that my people will save me?"_

_He looks sympathetic, "I can't answer that. We can't see the future any better than you, but we do know the odds. I'm sorry to say, Elizabeth, they're not in your favor."_

_She stares at him, growing desperate, but feeling whispers of a familiarity she can't begin to name or ignore any longer. "Who are you?"_

_He smiles, "Forgive me, where are my manners? It seems I fell into old habits again. I forgot that you don't know who I am anymore."_

"_We've met?" Elizabeth asks, confused on several levels._

"_Not precisely, no. My name is Janus."_

_The name strikes a familiar cord with her immediately, "Janus? As in the Ancient who helped the other Elizabeth - the old one - save Atlantis?"_

_He looks a little embarrassed, laughing, "Well, yes, I suppose. I would prefer if you didn't call me Ancient, though. Makes me feel terribly old. Mind you, I am terribly old, but it's still not a trait I prefer to be known by."_

_She smiles, too, although for entirely different reasons. She's trying to be polite and get a hold of the situation. It's just that the current circumstances are little too unusual for her, even taking into account her unique past experiences. She's standing in front of an Ancient, whose offering her the guidance to ascend, and the expected reverence she should feel of the situation seems to have completely bypassed her all together. She feels no awe of this man before, although she should. She feels no flattery at being asked to ascend, although she should. All she does feel is . . . bewildered and disoriented._

_She knows it must be her imagination, but she can still taste the salt water in the back of her throat. She can still feel the residual desperation and fatigue course through her body. She can still hear the words she wanted to say to John echo inside her head. Going from that to this was . . . disorienting, to say the least._

_Janus senses her turmoil, somehow, "I know this is confusing, Elizabeth, but take your time. We have all the time in the world in this place, and not even a second of it passes by in your world–"_

"_What is this place?" Elizabeth interrupts, suddenly impatient. "It looks like Atlantis, but it's . . ."_

_She trails off, her bewilderment slowly taking a backseat to her awe. It looks like she's standing in Atlantis, but it's at a greater glory than she's ever seen it before. The windows are all open, the view is spectacular, and the weather is perfect. There's breathtaking art on the walls that she's never seen before, and she feels an overwhelming presence of life and history and spirit in the entire place that she's only felt an echo of before. And although they're the only two people present, as far as she can see, there seems to be an electrified force in every inch of the city, powering it, making it run well enough for an entire city's worth of people. Atlantis is alive and well. She's fully active, a potency Elizabeth's only been able to catch a glimpse of in all her time here. _

_This is the way Atlantis should have been, Elizabeth realizes, if fate hadn't handed them a barely active energy source to run the city with._

_Janus laughs, amused at something, "You have on the same exact look. Elizabeth - the other one - she had the same expression on her face when she saw Atlantis, too. A look of absolute wonder."_

"_It's justified," Elizabeth replies, "I've never seen Atlantis fully powered before . . . Which only means one thing - this has to be an illusion of some sort."_

_Janus tilts his head, surprised by her assessment of the situation, "Well, I suppose technically. This entire environment exists only in our two imaginations. It's not an illusion, though. Think of it more as a vision come into being. Or another plane of existence, if you will. Here, you can create your own world. I chose Atlantis at its best, since I figured you could use a little familiarity right now. Unless, of course, you would prefer something else. Perhaps something from Earth?"_

_Elizabeth stares at him, unwaveringly, "I'd prefer answers."_

_He nods, "Of course . . . Shall we go for a walk?"_

_She hesitates, then slowly nods, and falls into step beside him. _

–

Teyla watches from her position on the balcony as the coffin is lowered onto the surface of the water. She silently confesses that she does not see the purpose of this ritual. What use is a coffin if it holds no body? What use is putting it to rest if it holds no restless soul? There is much about Earth customs that Teyla does not understand, and although she has firmly come to a point where she no longer feels the need to question every perplexing tradition of these people she has come to call friends, this time, she barely manages to temper her puzzlement only because of the heavy grief she carries with it.

She sees the vantage of a funeral, though. Elizabeth Weir, whether with body or not, deserves the respect and honor of a remembrance. The Athosians have often had to have such services themselves, since the Wraith cullings obviously leave no remains behind to the villagers. The coffin, however, still remains a mystery to her despite her best efforts to understand it. Beyond the symbolic nature of it, Teyla does not comprehend how lowering an empty casket into the waters could at all fill the unrest that has plagued the people of Atlantis since the demise of it's leader. Beyond that, the demise of what many consider to be a close friend.

Elizabeth Weir was a person - a great person - that guided those beneath her with a sense of integrity and solidarity that Teyla feels connected to. But Teyla focuses little on the leader, and more on the friend that came to embody the woman to her. She only feels disheartened by the fact that although Elizabeth Weir was a good friend, they had not the opportunity to become great friends. Both women had much in common, but whether by a constraint that came with time they were never afforded to have, or simply because they misspent what time they did have together, Elizabeth and Teyla never bridged that chasm that would have tied them into a lifelong friendship that would have been secondary to none. 'Best Friends,' she believed those from Earth called it. It is a missed opportunity that Teyla knows she'll never have another chance at, and feels a sense of loss and sadness that nearly threatens to falter the Athosian's normal steadfast composure.

Behind her, the Athosian people stand on mass, paying condolences for a women many did not know well, but still had respect for. Not a single Athosian is absent from the ceremony, although Teyla will admit the reasons for such are two-part. Most have come to pay respect to a honorable women, but Teyla is aware of a scant few who come for purely aesthetic reasons. The harsh winter weather has driven them all in from the mainland, and the City of the Ancients is once again a reluctant sanctuary for her people. She wonders if a few here, the ones that always manage to cause the most controversy in any given situation, have come to the ceremony only because they were aware of the impropriety that would be felt if they took sanctuary in the city, yet failed to offer respect to it's fallen leader. A hollow gesture, Teyla feels, and plans on speaking words to those few.

Teyla pulls her woolen coat tighter around her body, fending off the chill of the weather. She is unused to such weather, as are her people. The Athosians have taken refuge inside the shelter of the city for the second week in a row now, but uneased by the confining walls of the city, are already beginning to grow restless again. They are modest people, farmers and hunters, and although they notice the elegance of Atlantis, Teyla has the feeling they do not appreciate it on the same level as do those from Earth. That is why she has chosen to stand with her people today, during this ceremony, instead of with her team that stands at the opposite end, where the coffin is being lowered.

Still, she looks towards Aiden and McKay, and especially Major Sheppard, and is surprised by the sense of the longing she feels to be by their sides. It is the first time Teyla feels such a heightened sense of duality in her loyalty, between her people and those of Atlantis, and is disquieted even further by it. A time of mourning should not be charged with this type of emotion. The unease of her people clash with the grief of the Atlantis's personnel, and it does not bode well for the relations between them.

Sadly, Teyla is certain that Elizabeth Weir would have managed to sooth such tensions with her unique talents as a 'diplomat,' but most unfortunate, her services as such will never be rendered again. Teyla marvels at the losses that have occurred on so many levels by the death of this one women. Friend. Guardian. Confidant. Leader. Peace maker. So many losses. Too many.

From behind, Jinto escapes the hold of his father, and rushes forward to stop next to Teyla at the edge of the balcony. The ritual is nearing its end, and Jinto, keenly fascinated with an innocent curiosity possessed only by children, climbs the railing and dangles precariously outside its safety in the effort to catch all its detail.

"What is inside the coffin?" Jinto asks softly, well aware that loud voices were unwelcome at such an occasion.

"Nothing," Teyla responds, hiding her own frustration at the answer, "Caution, Jinto."

She reaches across to place a firm grip on his shoulders, lest he slip, but chooses not to remove him from his position. A nod from Halling, both done in gratitude and embarrassment, brings a brief smile to her face before the somber atmosphere of the situation bears down upon her again. She feels trapped by the grief the covers the area like a fog, and not once in the last forty-eight hours has that fog released its hold. It is becoming almost too much for her to bare anymore, and she looks for respite in any place she can.

"Who will be their leader now?" Jinto asks, somberly, "Dr. Weir had no next of kin here."

Teyla turns her full attention to him, "We do not choose leaders by bloodline, Jinto. We choose them by ability and strength."

Jinto nods, "I know, but . . . your father was our leader, too. I just thought . . . it couldn't hurt to have . . . you know."

Teyla regards him with a patience that took her many demanding years to master, "My father was our leader when he was alive, yes. But that did not guarantee my position as leader in any way. I was chosen by the people, as their representative. If it was a contest of bloodline, there were others whose fathers had come before mine in the line of succession. They would have been chosen instead."

"Alright, alright." Jinto replies, ears burning, "But who will take Dr. Weir's place now?"

"Who do you think should take her place?"

Jinto grins, then quickly hides the sight from the mourners around him, "Major Sheppard. He would make a great leader. He'd defeat the Wraith single-handedly, reclaim Athos from them, and still have time to teach me how to fly a puddle-jumper."

She barely suppresses her smile, feeling the lightest she has felt in the last two days, "Will he, now? He will manage all that and still have time to teach you?"

He shrugs, "Maybe he'll teach me before he defeats the Wraith. I think in a year or two I'll be able to fly 'em."

"In a year or two," Teyla counters in jest, "your height will barely allow you to reach the control panels."

He shrugs, a gesture that seems to mean nothing and everything depending on his mood, "You control it all with your mind, anyway."

Never contend with children, Teyla reflects with silent amusement, they are sure to have an apt reply to everything. Conformed to their own form of reasoning, of course.

She stands to his back, hands still firmly secured over his shoulder, and observes as the ritual draws to a close. She watches Major Sheppard intently throughout the entire proceedings. He has not once, in all the seconds that have passed since Dr. Weir's death, faltered or succumbed to emotion. He is holding it all in, and Teyla, slightly irritated at the stubbornness of the man, also worries intensely about him. She has not known him for long, but she knows him well. There are, in fact, many similarities between the Major and herself. A warrior's connection that both recognized upon first meeting. A tendency to hold emotion in is one of the common features among them. But here, Teyla knows, that line of action will only lead to more problems.

John will need to release his grief, or be swallowed whole by it.

As she watches him, she worries with each passing moment that the latter will be the most likely. In fact, as the coffin slowly submerges underneath the icy waters of Atlantis, that fear has reason to grow stronger and stronger. She recalls with crystal clarity the last moments heard of Dr. Weir's life, and closes her eyes against the look of defiance that had marked the Major's face at the time. Until the very end, he held out hope. Foolish hope, some may say. Dangerous foolishness, others _had_ said. It was that resolve that had influenced the Major to ultimately use the C4, despite Elizabeth's own persistent admonishment of the plan.

He had risked the destruction of a considerable portion of Atlantis to save a women who was most likely already dead. Her communications had already ceased a full thirty seconds before Major Sheppard had been able to secure the C4 onto the correct position and been able to evacuate the personnel from the immediate blast area. It was this C4, meant to be the last resort at rescue, that had ultimately lead to another loss - Elizabeth's body.

With a blast that Teyla can still hear ringing in her ears, this cursed C4 (which in Teyla's personal opinion had caused more trouble than was worth) worked its unique magic and burst the room wide open - directly into the sea. What had once been a small bothersome hole which leaked icy cold water into Elizabeth's classroom, had suddenly opened wide with the blast. It took up her body and swept it away into the ocean before the Atlantis teams even possessed the time to enter the room, and now with that, John's guilt not only covers the failed attempt at rescue, but also holds claim over losing her body as well. It is a burden that should not be his, but Teyla is well aware that it would be fruitless to attempt to convince the Major so.

The coffin, devoid of its rightful claim, has completely slipped beneath the waters of Atlantis now. Not even a corner of it is seen through the murky waters of this dark night, and Teyla hopes that it may join Elizabeth's body, somewhere out there, at the bottom of the ocean so as to serve its purpose.

"May light find you in the darkest of places, Elizabeth Weir," Teyla whispers, recalling the Athosian farewell, "For your light will be sorely missed here–"

"–and forever more," Jinto finishes, surprising her.

The crowd slowly begins to disperse, and Halling makes his way over to retrieve Jinto. Before Teyla turns away from the balcony, she looks for the one face that has her the most worried. When she finds it, her heart freezes for a moment in ache. He is not grieving, she observes with a keen eye - the opposite in fact. It brings to mind an old saying of the Athosians, "Rain that has been denied its fall for weeks, will plummet with a vengeance when released."

At this moment, she fears the saying has too apt a meaning for Major Sheppard. He will need to release his grief soon, or else, when it finally is allowed freedom, the fallout will be too great for him to handle properly. She sends two more prayers to the heavens above - oneforElizabeth Weir, in the hopes for her safe journey to the Promised Land, and the other, for John Sheppard.

She prays for his soul and his peace of mind, and then slips quietly away from the balcony with Jinto's small hand in hers.

–

_Forty-eight hours ago . . . continued_

_Elizabeth and Janus walk side by side for an indiscernible amount of time, doors automatically shifting open and closed in their presence as they make their way through this empty faux-Atlantis. Janus steers the conversation for the most part, Elizabeth listening with a half an ear at first since her mind is too busy preoccupied with thoughts of cold water and people she cares for and worries intensely about. _

_She wonders what they're doing right now, and interrupts Janus to ask him so._

"_As we speak, your people are frozen in time," Janus replies, "Like I said before, not one second has passed in your world since I pulled you out. Time has stopped until you're ready to decide."_

"_To decide between death and Ascension?" Elizabeth clarifies. _

_Janus nods, "That's the one."_

_She pauses, disquieted. Back there and then, in that classroom, there had been no time or effort wasted in thinking about death, at least beyond the fact that she wanted to avoid it at nearly all costs. Now, though, she has the time to think about it and all the morbid fear it inspires. She doesn't want to die. There's too many things left undone . . . unsaid in her life. The leader in her, the one constantly held responsible for everything, wants to see Atlantis return to her full glory. She also wants to, quite plainly, kick the Wraith's ass and return some semblance of vitality to this entire galaxy. A lofty goal, she knows, but she's always been an ambitious person._

_The woman in her, however, wants more simpler things. She wants to see Earth again - to curl up with a book and blanket and concentrate on nothing that has anything to do with responsibility. She wants to see her family again, especially her father. She also wants to see John Sheppard again, although for entirely different reasons. She has no idea how or when or why, but somewhere over the last year, she's come to see him as more than her second-in-command. More than a friend. Somehow, her rational brain manages to fail for the first time in her entire life, and against all logic and sensibility, she's starting to feel feelings for a man who should have, at best, been nothing more than a good friend. She tried to suppress it - in fact, she** had** suppressed it. _

_Months of repression, however, seems to have caved completely in a matter of hours._

_Elizabeth now can't deny what she would have starkly refused earlier the same day - she's starting to fall for one Major John Sheppard - big time. She can't say she's in love with him, not yet anyway. But the possibility is there, and it frightens her almost more than the notion of death. She's finds herself incredibly curious about how he feels, and whether he feels the same way as her, but knows she'll be equal parts terrified and relieved at any answer she gets back. _

_She's suddenly aware that Janus is talking, and seems to have been for some time now, " . . . in a blink of an eye, we can see everything. Since we exist in a higher plane of existence, like I've previously mentioned, it's easier to move through the flow of space and time . . ."_

_Elizabeth silently curses in three languages while keeping up pace with the man, angry at herself for catching only the tail-end of the conversation. It's not like her to be so distracted, especially when the topic is so important. But the matter of John Sheppard always manages to blind-sight her. She firmly resolves to put him completely out of mind, so she can actually think without her eyes glazing over. She's Elizabeth Weir, dammit, not a love-struck teenager. _

_It takes some time and effort to do, but Elizabeth finally manages to put most of her thoughts of John Sheppard firmly behind her - although some stubbornly manage to linger, trailing over all others with a light-feather touch. _

_Janus smiles, "I know what you're thinking."_

_Elizabeth freezes, and blurts out before she can stop herself, "I certainly hope not."_

_Janus falters for a second in confusion, then continues to smile, "You're thinking - it's all well and good to know what an Ascended does, but how do you actually achieve Ascension? Am I right?"_

_Elizabeth forces the smile that got her through Washington onto her face, "You read my mind."_

_He nods, "I thought as much. There are in fact many ways to Ascend. I'm here to offer you the assistance you need to find your own path. Enlightment is different for everybody. For some, it is simply accepting that life is over. For others, it is simply accepting that their responsibilities are over. For most, it's accepting that whatever's to come - will come. We have no sway in how the world is. Not really. The highlighted key praise in all of this is actually one word - 'acceptance.' Without it, we can't go on."_

"_Acceptance?" Elizabeth repeats._

"_Yes. I know this is all sounding rather vague and preachy, isn't it?"_

_Elizabeth wisely chooses not to insult the man here to help her, "A bit, yes."_

_Janus grins, " Just be glad you have me. I've dumbed it down, considerably. The one who guided me was Oma. I nearly chose death over Ascension because I had no inkling of what she was talking about. You should have heard some of the things she said -'The journey must be one with the destination. Only then will you find the golden pathway which you seek.' What exactly is that suppose to mean? I'm an Ascended now, and I still have no clue." _

_Elizabeth, for the first time since she talked to Sheppard earlier that morning, grins back at someone in genuine mirth._

_Their conversation, which had been stilted at first because of Elizabeth's rather uncharacteristically divided attention, slowly picks up momentum after that. Janus tells her about the Ascended. About their powers. About their history, although so far what's she's heard is nothing more than what she could have hazard at guess at. Any time her attention starts to stray, to cold waters or worried Majors, she refocuses on the man before her. Then Janus says something that sparks her puzzlement. He says that she's been chosen, one of the few among her race, to be offered the opportunity of Ascending. _

_Which brings to mind the obvious question - why her? _

_Janus's reply is more than she expects, "We've been observing Atlantis for a long time. Since the moment you've stepped through the Stargate, there have been hundreds of eyes watching over every single member of this expedition."_

_Elizabeth stops short in her walk, shocked. "The Ancients have been watching us?"_

_Janus doesn't notice that she's missing from his side until he's a good four feet away. When he does notice, he stops abruptly with a comical look on his face, "I'm sorry, what did you say?"_

"_The Ancients," Elizabeth repeats, "They've been watching us this entire time?"_

_He looks at her with an expression of surprise, as if the answer to that question should have been obvious to a two-year old. "The Ancients, as you insist on calling us, have always been watching you. You're our second evolution. And when you came to Atlantis, you naturally acquired quite an audience."_

_Elizabeth stands there, mouth opening and closing in the vein attempt to form words._

"_Elizabeth, are you quite alright?"_

_She blinks, fighting back against emotions that suddenly want to overwhelm her. Elizabeth's upset, not an uncommon experience for her, but usually, she manages to hold it in - remaining the eloquent diplomat to the last. This time, however, the diplomat seems to have left the building, and all that's left behind is a women who's been through too much in the last twenty-four hours to be anything but brutally frank._

"_No," she replies, "I'm not alright. I'm actually approaching the extreme opposite of alright. You wanna know why? In the last twenty four hours, I have faced pain, imminent death, heartbreaking goodbyes, and last but not least, we cannot forget this otherworldly intervention. Now I find out that the Ancients, the race of beings that I have looked up to for so long that I actually traveled to another galaxy just to meet, have been watching over us the entire time we've been in Atlantis. But you wanna know what point is currently demanding my undivided attention?"_

_Janus looks a little hesitant, "What?"_

_She stares back, unwavering in her accusation, "We've needed your guidance and help from day one, and you've done nothing."_

_Janus's expression slowly turns abashed and sympathetic, "I know."_

_But Elizabeth's feels indignation begin to flood her, and she's not nearly finished with what she has to say, "My people are dying out there, Janus. Do you wanna know how many of my people have died in the last year? In the last twelve months? Twenty-two. Of only a handful of people, already twenty-two have died. Would you like to know their names? Their ranks, age, hobbies? Their nationalities or what jobs they were given while staying in this majestic city of yours? Would you like to know how each and every one of them died? I can tell you. I know all of that by heart–"_

"_Elizabeth," Janus cuts in, "I know you're upset, but it is the way of the Others. They strongly oppose intervention of any kind. If I had my way, we would have helped. You would have had an army of the Ascended at your beck and call, but there are rules that we have to follow–"_

"_Rules?" Elizabeth repeats, disdainfully, "Some rules are meant to be broken. I took seven months hand picking these people - the best of the best - only to lead them to their deaths. So don't talk to me about rules and regulations. Even the military knows that rules are meant to be broken sometimes!"_

"_Eliza–"_

_She doesn't let him get in a word edge-wise, "What good could I possibly do my people as an Ascended, if I can't help them?"_

_And that, ladies and gentlemen, is the only reason she hasn't already jumped at the opportunity to Ascend. At first glance, Ascension may seem better than the other option she has available - death. But Elizabeth's smart enough to know there's more to it than that. She doesn't quite know what she would get herself into by Ascending, but she's well aware of the Ancient's policy of 'Look, don't touch.' Their rule of non-intervention is what left the Old Weir trapped in Atlantis for over ten thousand years. And although she's aware that Janus is the exception to this rule - that it was his defiance of the order of things that had ultimately saved them all - right now, she sees him as one of them. She sees him as an Ancient, and demands justification. People are dying, and the all-powerful and all-knowing Ancients are doing nothing but watching?_

_Janus pauses, to measure his words, "You're absolutely right. We're the worst elitists in the entire known Universe - possibly even far worse than the Goa'ulds. At least they don't mask their superiority complex with a cover of benevolence . . . But Elizabeth, some of us are good people that want to help. We trying to change the system from within, but we need more allies. We need a bigger voice among the others."_

_A spark of recognition lights in Elizabeth's eyes, "You're talking about politics?"_

_Janus nods, "An appropriate name as any other. Personally, I've never had the patience for it."_

_She sighs heavily, releasing a significant portion of her anger out with it. Only disappoint remains behind. Even here, even now, she has to deal with the worst parts of bureaucracy. Still, even as she laments over the fact that an advanced race such as the Ancients can be weighted down by politics, Elizabeth can't deny that it doesn't come without its' benefits. A small part of her brain points out that she knows how to play the political game. She couldn't have reached this point in her career without being supremely talented with it. Politics, as unseemly as it could be sometimes, was Elizabeth's prime specialty. It was warfare that she never quite acquired the taste for._

"_The question you have to ask yourself, Elizabeth," Janus continues, softly, "is where do you think you can do the most good? As an Ascended? As a deceased? . . . Or as a peaceful leader during war?"_

_Elizabeth falters, all righteous anger now gone out of her as if it was never there to begin with. She stands there and Janus's words have the resounding effect it was meant to. She can't deny the fact that her best skills have been sourly languishing away in the Pegasus Galaxy._

"_But my people need me," Elizabeth counters, softly._

"_Yes, they do," Janus replies, "I cannot deny that. In fact, it's more than likely that if you chose to Ascend, you will be forced to live by the same stubborn rules that I have been forced to live under - no intervention of any kind with the lives of humans." _

_Elizabeth looks keenly at him, wondering how this was suppose to convince her to Ascend. The idea of watching without intervening, especially if her people's lives are in danger, is a thought too much for her to bear._

_Janus sighs, "But as I said before, you're two breaths shy of death. If you chose not to Ascend, you are not choosing to help your people. You are choosing death, and then what good can you possibly do anybody?"_

_Elizabeth pauses - Death or Ascension? _

_She could, truly, second guess herself and debate over this issue for hours on end. It was not a decision to be made lightly. But if this is really the choice she has, then the rational answer is still obvious. And if Elizabeth was ever any one thing, it was rational. _

_At least as an Ascended, she thinks, she can still watch over her people._

_And with that thought resounding in her head, final acceptance slowly washes over her like a storm, and Elizabeth makes the biggest decision in her entire life amidst its turmoil. Janus sees it, somehow. She's not aware of him, though. Instead, a sense of determination and resolve has sprung up, and she clings to it before she can have time to second-guess herself._

_She looks up, eyes watery with tears she refuses to let fall, "I want to say goodbye, first."_

_Janus looks surprised at her sudden decision, "Are you sure, Elizabeth? I'm not asking you to make a decision right now. I still have much to tell you. You have time–"_

"_I'm ready," Elizabeth says softly, feeling ready as she'll ever be. _

–

Not even one hour after the burial service is over, Rodney can be found working relentlessly in his laboratory.

The workbench is littered with design blue prints and small intricate parts of several Ancient devices, seeming to all but Rodney to be scattered about in a haphazard manner. But there's a method to his madness that many have long since decided not to question anymore, but with his abrupt manner and irritation even worse than usual today - a feat many had thought impossible - within five minutes of entering his workstation, Rodney's managed to clear out the entire laboratory of all other personnel by blasting his ever-so-sunny disposition at anyone who dared approach him. He's already sent one girl running out the laboratory, fully in tears, but unlike usual, he doesn't even pause to feel any tinge of guilt over it.

He continues to work with a single mindedness that was not uncharacteristic of him, but this time, there's an underlying reason for it that seems obvious to everyone except him. Rodney's focused only on his work, though, and does not catch the slightly sympathetic looks people throw his way even as they rush to leave the laboratory to escape his abhorring company.

"Ow!"

His normally nimble fingers fumble over a metallically segmented object, slicing his right index finger with a particularly nasty paper cut.

"Terrific," Rodney grumbles, shaking his fingers to sooth the sting, "Now I'm going to bleed to death. Just perfect. The foremost expert of Gate theory and wormhole physics in all of Pegasus Galaxy dies from excessive bleeding from his right index digit . . . Just fitting–"

Then, he's distracted from the thought as he stares at the metallic object in his hands and uniquely pauses to wonder where this piece of metal goes. Then he remembers, of course, picking up the dismantled Image Recognition Device that lays near the corner of the table. It was one of the new trinkets they had recently picked up when exploring the East Wing of Atlantis. Rodney's already spent three days working over its design, trying to figure it out and see if he could somehow reverse engineer parts of it in modification for his own purposes. It's slick and sophisticated, and while its great for high speed pattern recognition and image processing, he can still see other valuable applications for the device as well–

"Rodney," Radek greets, entering the room, "Still working?"

"No, I'm practicing to become an intergalactic mime." Rodney replies, cheekily, "What the hell does it look like I'm doing? Having a vacation in the Bahamas with two blondes?"

"Not even in another galaxy can you get two blondes," Radek mutters, teasingly, "One, maybe. If she is sufficiently blind enough and does not speak English."

Rodeny glares, "Do you mind? I'm trying to work here."

"You have been working for over five hours, Rodney. You need to rest. You need to eat. Fainting is so not attractive these days, right?"

"I do not faint," Rodney replies, burying himself back into his work, "I pass out from manly hunger. And it hasn't been five hours. I've only been working for two."

Radek looks at him pointedly, "Time is a relative thing, I know. But not so in this case. It has been five."

Rodney looks up, surprised, "Really? Well, yes . . . I've just been making so much progress that I lost track of time. I've just figured out the range of the wavelength detectors on the Image Recognition Device. It's not as good as the Tricorder Scans, but it has promise–"

A Power-Bar slides across the lab bench, stopping several inches away from him before he hears Radek's voice interrupt, "You need to take a break. Come down and have dinner with us. I have noticed that you haven't eaten anything all day."

"Nonsense." Rodney grumbles, for once in his life ignoring a Power-Bar's presence, "If I hadn't eaten anything all day, I'd be dead. I had lunch two hours ago."

Radek tips his head to the side, curiously, "Two hours ago in reality, or two hours ago in this make-believe world you live in?"

"I am perfectly fine," Rodney snaps, annoyed. "I don't need a mother hen."

Radek agrees with him, "No, you do not need that."

"Thank you," Rodney mumbles.

"What you need," Radek continues, "is a swift kick in the _šoust._"

That stops Rodney from tinkering with his device for a second. Curiously, he quires, "_Head_?"

"No," Radek replies, smiling smugly and changing the subject. "You need to rest. You are an irritable man when like this. You are an irritable man when awake, yes, but especially like this."

Rodney goes back to work, "No, I'm really not . . . Irritable, that is. I just demand the same perfection from everybody else that I demand of myself. It may be asking the impossible, but it's not irritable–"

"We will all miss her terribly, Rodney," Radek cuts in with a gentle voice, dispensing with everything else and getting to the exact topic that Rodney had been desperately trying to avoid. "You do not need to carry the grief by yourself. You and the Major both are the same. Peas in the pods, yes?"

Rodney doesn't comment, finding the external casing of the I-R device to be suddenly fascinating and demanding of his undivided attention. He fiddles with it for a second, trying to place it this way and that, before he returns it back to the corner of his workbench. He looks up to find Radek has not moved one inch, a look of sympathy on his face that Rodney hates.

"There were not many women like her," Radek says, "At least, not where I came from."

Rodney grunts, amused. "I didn't even know there were women like her where I came from. I fairly sure they're aren't. She is . . . was . . . ah . . . dammit, I hate this! It shouldn't have been her! It should have somebody else trapped in that water! It should have been somebody less important . . . to the mission."

"Nobody should have been trapped there," Radek corrects.

"Yes. Yes. Of course that's what I meant," Rodney replies quickly, avoiding eye contact, "But she just . . . you didn't hear her, Radek. She . . . sounded so different in the end. You could hear it in her voice."

After a moment, Radek speaks again, softly, "I have been curious . . . what did she say in the end?"

–

_And then she's back, in the horrible chill of the icy cold water. _

_It assaults her immediately, and Elizabeth gasps a surprised breath that mingles instantly with pain. She seems to have returned in the exact same condition she left this miserably place in - cold, wet, in pain, and dying. The chattering of teeth is back, and her body is just as weak as it was before. But this time, she can handle it. This time, Elizabeth finds strength that she previously didn't have. She's armed with the knowledge that this pain is going to be momentary, and focused on that, Elizabeth finds the effects not as debilitating._

_In the darkened and disaster-filled room, with wet hair clinging to her face, she can vaguely make out John calling her name. It's not through the radio clutched tightly in her icy-blue fingers, though. Instead, she can hear his voice through the walls. He's yelling for her to answer back, fearing the worst._

_She takes a moment before she can regain enough strength to speak, "I'm . . . here, John."_

_There's not even a moment's hesitation in the answer, "We're using the C4! I've already started evacuating the personnel from the immediate area. Get away from the east wall, Elizabeth. No arguments!"_

_She smiles, even though she knows he'll be defiant to the end, he's doing it in an attempt to save her. Yes, she could have easily come to love this man. If only they had time. Her head suddenly dips under the water, and she fiercely comes back up with more fight in her than she thought she was capable of. Moments. That's all she has left. Moments._

"_I . . . wanted to say . . ."_

_She takes a deep breath, and changes her mind about what she's going to say in the last second. The words of intimacy die on her lips, and Elizabeth suddenly realizes that now is not the time. Not anymore. Not yet. Her last words to John won't be about her feelings towards him. _

_They'll have time for that later, she suddenly promises. She'll make sure of that._

_Her last words, instead, turn into a promise she intends to keep, "I'll . . . be watching . . . over you."_

_And then there's a glowing, bright light again. It's different from when Janus pulled her out, though. This time, she feels something course through every fiber of her being. She feels energy and power and clarity flow through, from the very depths of her soul to the very tips of her fingers, and blinded by the ambient light, she doesn't notice that her body has lost its physical form entirely. At least, not until she's floating above the water, nothing more than ball of white light. _

_And thus, Elizabeth Weir Ascends . . ._

_-- _


End file.
